


Poison

by Minutia_R



Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Lois McMaster Bujold
Genre: Gen, Time Period: Reign of Ezar Vorbarra, Warning: Serg Vorbarra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:18:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minutia_R/pseuds/Minutia_R
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was only--Serg had been so late, Kareen had let herself hope he wasn’t going to show up after all.  That was her mistake; it always was.</i>
</p><p>Serg comes to Gregor's fourth birthday party.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poison

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avanti_90](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avanti_90/gifts).



> For avanti_90's prompt: Serg Vorbarra, Gregor Vorbarra, assassination. Standard Serg warnings apply.

Drou’s fingers squeezed the back of Kareen’s chair, in a nearly-imperceptible gesture of reassurance. Drou was solid and dependable, Drou was fast, and Ezar, sitting on the other side of Gregor--Kareen wasn’t sure she’d use the word _dependable_ for Ezar, but he hadn’t let her down in the last five years. He had warned her in advance, fair enough, and now he gave her the shallowest of nods. It was only--Serg had been so late, she’d let herself hope he wasn’t going to show up after all. That was her mistake; it always was.

He walked into the room, streamers of tinsel brushing his shoulder, with no excuse for his lateness, not even the wordless one of a disheveled appearance. He glittered in his uniform, and Ges Vorrutyer was a matching shadow at his back. Kareen thought, bitterly and irrelevantly, _doesn’t that man have any fleets to command?_

“Happy birthday, son,” said Serg, brushing Gregor’s hair back from his forehead and planting a kiss there. Under the table, Kareen’s belly was ice, and her hands couldn’t avoid a twitch-- _Don’t touch him._ “How old are you now, eh?”

Gregor’s face, turned up towards his seldom-seen father, was open as a flower: uncertain--he could feel the tension from the adults in the room--but full of the desire to trust, and to please. “Four,” he said.

“So big,” Serg murmured. “Did you get lots of nice presents?”

“Can’t open them yet. Captain Negri said.” Gregor was momentarily crestfallen, having to give this disappointing news, but he brightened again. “We had cake. Do you want some?”

“I’d be honored.” One of the servants approached with the cake, but instead of waiting for her to cut him a slice, Serg relieved her of the tray and cake-slice both.

It was barely sharper than a letter-opener, the cake-slice, and Serg wore his two swords, and still Drou’s hand inched toward her bolero, and the two ImpSec men hovering near Ezar came to stiffer attention. Ges Vorrutyer’s eyes sparked with amusement and the corners of his mouth twitched. Serg blandly handed the cake-slice, handle forward, to Gregor.

“The birthday boy cuts the cake. Doesn’t he?”

Frowning with concentration, using both hands, Gregor drove the cake-slice through layers of chocolate, cherries, and cream. He tried the deft flip that the servant had used to transfer the slice of cake to a plate, and ended up with half the cherries on the tablecloth, but he looked pleased with himself as he offered the plate to Serg.

Serg passed the plate over Gregor’s head to Drou. “Miss Droushnakovi, do me the favor of tasting that cake.”

Fast as Drou was, Kareen wasn’t happy that Serg had maneuvered her into having her hands occupied. But there was nothing Drou could do but have a bite of the cake--they had all been eating it earlier, for goodness’ sake. Kareen breathed easier when she handed it back.

“You see, Gregor,” said Serg, “you should never eat anything unless it’s been tasted first. You never know if it’s been poisoned.”

“Poison?” Gregor glanced over his shoulder. “Droushie?”

“Better her than me,” said Serg. “It’s very important, if you don’t absolutely trust the person who’s given you the food.”

Gregor gnawed on his lower lip as he worked this one through. His voice, when he spoke, was tiny and distant. “Me?”

“I’d never believe that of you.” Serg’s smile was full of knives. “You’re a good boy, Gregor. And a smart one. If you wanted to kill someone, they’d never see it coming, would they?”

Serg turned the full force of that smile on Ezar, but if he was hoping for a reaction, he was disappointed. “Good day, Sire. Milady,” he said after a pause. “Happy birthday, Gregor.”

Gregor watched him go, and Kareen watched Gregor, heartsick. Once Serg was gone, Gregor looked at the table for the space of several too-quick, ragged breaths; his lips trembled, and for a moment Kareen thought he would cry. For a moment she wished he would, and that she could gather him into her arms and tuck his face into her shoulder, and tell him it would be all right.

Then Gregor swallowed his tears, leaving his face pale and expressionless. _Good boy, Gregor,_ thought Kareen.

“I don’t think,” said Gregor, “that I want more cake.”


End file.
